


Loved

by OurLittleSecretOkay



Series: Love(s/d) [2]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, He is trying very hard but he has no chill at all whatsoever, Not Actually Unrequited Love, snufkin is actually a mess, very soft boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-12 00:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18435566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurLittleSecretOkay/pseuds/OurLittleSecretOkay
Summary: "Sunlight bouncing off his fur, Moomin came careening towards him, and all Snufkin wants is to hop from the ledge, take those hands in his own, kiss him on his forehead, his nose- All of a sudden, all the anxiety inside him becomes a clean, deep pool, settling itself into a quiet shape. Snufkin thinks of a word he cannot say aloud."





	1. Spring

Truth be told, there is still frost on the grass. The further north he got, the more likely it became that Snufkin would find frost on the canvas of his tent in the morning. Not every day, of course; that would be a sure sign he ought to wander about some more. Just often enough that he could ignore it, tell himself it is the cusp of Spring, if not Spring itself. Not that he was rushing to get back. He only has three months out of every twelve to stretch his nature, let his voice rest and thoughts chase their own path. He savors those months, needs them. As much as he loves Moominvalley, he can’t stay there all of the time. Things need rest. And Snufkin, he needs more rest than most. If he stayed all the time, he might grow to resent it, maybe even hate it. It seems silly to waste such a big world staying in one place, especially when one’s nature demands constant movement. But he could compromise, make it a pivot place that he returned to, again and again. 

Maybe this year is warmer than most. Or maybe he just had less thoughts than usual. Whatever the case, it is time for beginnings again. He had known it two weeks ago, as soon as he woke up. He couldn’t say how he knows it; one just knows these sorts of things. Just the same as he knows when he is hungry, he knows when it was time to go. And so, bag full, heart fresh, he set out, doing his best to not mind the occasional frost.

He fidgets with his harmonica in his pocket as he walks, not quite making up his mind whether he ought to play it or not. Maybe it is too soon to go back. His gut seems heavy with the wait of some unknown catastrophe. That is silly of him, of course. There isn’t a problem in sight he couldn’t fix. Stay or go, he is in charge. He decides where he goes, and if he wants to go back earlier this year, that is his decision. His fingers brush over the metal of his harmonica, warm from being in his jumper. No one can tell him what to do.

Just to make the point, he stops and rests under a tree. Maybe he will pitch his tent here and spend the night. Maybe a few nights. Who knew? He won’t, of course. He knows that, but still, he likes to have the option. 

It has been months since he’s been in these woods. No matter how different his journeys, the trips always begin on the same path, and a few hours ago he had crossed onto the road where all those paths converged. It won’t be much time at all before he is back in Moominvalley. For the hundredth time, his stomach twists. Maybe he will just set up his tent and hang out for a few days, still on his lonesome. There was no reason to try to wake Moomin up.

Of course there are plenty of reasons. First and foremost being that Moomin is the only reason he returns again and again. It isn’t the valley he is tied to so much as Moomin himself. His best friend. Best. Friend. He hadn’t ever thought himself the type of person to have friends, let alone a best one. Irritated at his own anxiety, he pulls out his mouth organ, determined to play, but instead just walks along, holding it. Maybe Moomin doesn’t want to see him. Maybe he is mad that Snufkin left once again. That is ridiculous, of course. That moomintroll couldn’t hold a grudge longer than he could hold a fist full of water. Still. He thinks of Moomin and feels quite like someone has turned him into an instrument; a whining, buzzing thing. Quick, he shoves his harmonica back into his pocket.

He is never quite sure if he likes leaving or not. Or rather, it isn’t that he likes leaving so much as he likes being gone. Just as he aches for open roads and other skies while in Moominvalley, he aches for his little campsite and friends when gone. It is the aching he likes, maybe. To always have something to want, something to look forward to. He needs something to keep him going, after all. And he does want to go back, he really does. He is ready to go back. It isn’t rushed or wrong or too soon; it is time. So why this awful anticipation?

 

Another few hours, and the sun has broken over the horizon. He walks clear through the night, fighting more thoughts than he had the entire time he was gone. He sets his bag down, shakily pulls together his tent. It isn’t a good job, but he’ll redo it later. Stomach still rolling, he perches on the ledge of the bridge and takes a deep breath, raising his harmonica to his lips.

 

With his eyes closed, he can’t see anything. Not the distant mountains nor the glistening water of the river. He plays, and everything is once again as it always was, and there is no reason at all to be nervous. He finishes Moomin’s song and plays it again. And then again. And a fourth time for good luck. Just when Snufkin has decided that the best element of the song is the fact that Moomin likes it, he hears his name and opens his eyes. One of the notes comes out wrong, but he keeps playing, hopes his friend hasn’t noticed. Moomin is smiling, waving, his arms flapping about him as he more falls than runs down the hill. Sunlight bouncing off his fur, Moomin came careening towards him, and all Snufkin wants is to hop from the ledge, take those hands in his own, kiss him on his forehead, his nose- All of a sudden, all the anxiety inside him becomes a clean, deep pool, settling itself into a quiet shape. Snufkin thinks of a word he cannot say aloud. 

Clasping the handrail, Moomin bounces, excited. Nonchalantly, Snufkin pockets his harmonica, smiles.

“Hello Moomin.” 

It’s the perfect name for him; round, belongs on a smile. And he does smile, cannot help but smile as his dear friend struggles up the bannister, sitting sideways upon it and immediately bursting with questions and stories. He listens quietly, smiling calmly as if the entirety of his mind isn’t an inferno. Closing his eyes again, Snufkin listens to the sound of his friend’s voice and imagines plunging himself into the river.


	2. Lazy Day

He was very, very lucky his friend knew him so well and didn’t press his solitude. Sitting alone in his tent, Snufkin stared at his crossed legs, head in his hands. He was very glad to have picked up common words in other languages as he cycled through the worst of the ones he knew. 

Of course, he was no stranger to difficulty. He didn’t like things easy. That didn’t mean that he wanted everything quite so hard, though. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with your best friend. It wasn’t the sort of thing one does, and the problem left him feeling rather dreadful indeed.

Naturally, the solution had immediately become clear to him. There was only one way to deal with emotions like these, and that was to shove them down deep inside you where no one else could ever find them. That was the sensible thing to do, anyway. And so he had, but occasionally one or another would bubble its way to the surface. Just yesterday, Moomin had fallen asleep against his shoulder while fishing, and Snufkin hadn’t dared move, not even to reel in whatever it was he had caught. He watched fish after fish get away, unable to do anything but sweat nervously until Moomin had stretched awake, asked him if he’d had any luck.

“Hey!” a voice called from directly behind him, causing him to jump. 

“What it is?” turning around, he found Sniff and Little My staring at him though the flaps of his tent.

“Are you crying?” There was no kindness to be lost in Little My’s voice.

“No, just thinking.” The three of them stared at each other for another moment. 

“Well, we need your help. Moomin says he’s busy, and we need one more person to make it work.”

“Make what work?”

“Only the greatest seashell operation Moominvalley has ever seen!”

“It’ll be fun!” Sniff promised.

Snufkin thought it over. “Moomin isn’t coming?”

“Oh come on! You two are already attached at the hip often enough as is. It won’t kill you to lay off a little! So are you coming or not?” Excitement mingling with her irritation, Little My smirked.

“I’m coming,” ducking his head down, Snufkin exited the tent, walking with them down towards the beach.

“He’s keeping secrets, you know,” Little My said, eyeing Snufkin. He felt his hair bristle.

“Secrets? What secrets would I be keeping?”

“Not you. Just because you disappear for months on end doesn’t mean you’re the most interesting thing here.” Little My rolled her eyes. “I meant Moomin. He’s up to something, though I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re in on it too. The way he told me off because he was ‘busy?’ Suspicious. All he was doing was laying on the grass.” She scoffed. “Sounds like secrets to me, and I intend to find them out!”

“Maybe he is busy,” Snufkin shrugged, heart still beating too fast to be comfortable. 

“Or maybe he’s coming up with a plan to share with us later,” Sniff interjected. 

“Sniff’s right. You shouldn’t be so quick to conclusions.” 

Little My narrowed her eyes. “Why so defensive, Snufkin? You _ are _ in on the plan, aren’t you?”

Snufkin was saved from Little My’s accusations by Snorkmaiden running up the beach towards them. “Where’s Moomin?”

“Couldn’t come,” Little My waved the sentiment off with her hand. “Said he was busy.”

“Oh.” Snorkmaiden’s ears dropped. Snufkin felt the same way. “Well then. We’ll just have to find shells for him. Keep an eye out for yellow shells, everyone.”

“Why yellow?” Sniff tilted his head.

“That’s his favorite color,” Snorkmaiden smiled.

“No it’s not. It’s green.” Everyone paused, looking at Snufkin. Little My cocked an eyebrow.

“No, it’s yellow. He told me last year,” Snorkmaiden looked at him earnestly, still smiling.

“Well, he told me last week it was green. Perhaps he’s changed it.” He wasn’t sure why he had spoken again. Maybe the winter had made him an idiot. Tensing everything he could, he willed his face not to blush as his friends stared.

“Green and yellow shells, whatever.” Little My waved the conversation off. “Point is, by the end of the day, we’ll have enough shells to have a monopoly of the market! Now, first thing we need is a giant pit!”

 

The sun had already moved a quarter of the way across the sky when Snufkin went running to get Moomin. Or rather, he had been instructed to get the Moomins’ ladder, but surely he needed Moomin’s help for that. When he found him, his friend was asleep beside the riverbank, curled up in the grass. Snufkin’s heart thump-thump-thumped against his chest, as if it wanted to join the birds up in the trees. Without thinking, he covered his chest with his hands, as if that ought to hold it in. Leaning over, he watched the sleeping Moomintroll, so uncharacteristically quiet. He could stay here forever, he thought, just watching. But then he remembered Little My, and shook the thoughts from his head.

“Moomin! Hey, Moomin!”

His friend awoke slowly, rubbing his eyes with his paws. Snufkin had a sudden urge to pet his cheeks as well. He really was soft.

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing yet, if you hurry.” Realizing his chance, he reached out his open hands, hoping that Moomin would take them and delighted when he did. He was so soft; so wonderfully, wonderfully soft. Snufkin thought of his own hands, how they were dirty with sand and salt, and felt a little embarrassed as he brushed his fingers through the fur casually. Unfortunately, standing takes very little time, and so it was only a second before Moomin pulled his paws away.

“What's happening?”

“Little My's found something.”

“Found what?”

“The bottom of a pit.” He watched Moomin’s ears perk up in surprise. “Come help us get her out.” All at once, he realized he had been staring, and so, turning quickly, began to run. He could hear Moomin follow him, steps still heavy as he shook the sleep from his body. Turning, Snufkin watched a smile break across his face as Moomin began shouting questions. He answered those he could, leaving others for later. It was important to take everything in turn, and now, it was time to enjoy that it was just the two of them, and he intended to do that. 


	3. Lying Lessons

Sitting beside the riverbank, Snufkin stared at the inside of his hat, pretending he was sleeping. Moomin had been inside all morning, which was strange. Even though he knew nothing was wrong, he felt nervous nonetheless. Suppose Moomin was sick? Well then, he reasoned, he could show up with flowers and tea. No doubt Moominmamma wouldn’t let anyone in for fear of them getting sick as well, so he’d have to climb up the window. That would be difficult with a teapot, but he would manage. Moomin probably wouldn’t ask him why he’d brought flowers, but if he did, he’d tell him it was to make up for him having to be cooped up inside, and Moomin would laugh. He had such a great laugh. Anyway, he would pour him some tea and tell him stories until he had fallen asleep, and only then would he get up to leave. But as soon as he stood, Moomin would grab his hand and ask him in his sleepy voice to stay, and so of course Snufkin would have no choice. And he’d just  _ have  _ to snuggle up next to him because Moomin would be cold, and so he’d start telling him stories all over again and petting his fur, and they’d get closer the drousier they got, and they’d both feel safe, so incredibly safe, and pretty soon-

He blinked, squinting against the harsh light as someone lifted his hat from his face.

“Are you dead?”

Little My. Of course Little My. Always Little My.

“No, I’m not dead.” He took his hat back, somewhat irritated that she had interrupted his daydream. Now he’d have to start all over again. Although, maybe that wasn’t so bad. 

“You looked pretty dead.”

“Do you need something?”

“Moomin’s keeping secrets, just like I told you and Sniff. And so I came to find out what they are.”

“What makes you think I know?” He resituated his hat atop his head.

“Because. He tells you everything. You two hardly have any secrets. Hardly, any way.”

“This must be one of the exceptions.” He closed his eyes again, but her words gnawed at him. After a prolonged silence, he took the bait. “What do you mean ‘hardly?’”

“You’re a real dummy, aren’t you?” She smiled, relishing whatever information she was withholding. Snufkin didn’t answer, not having anything clever to say. Sighing, Little My continued. “He might not notice, but I know what you’re up to.”

“I’m not up to anything, Little My.” It was the truth, but still his heart thrum-thrum-thrummed inside him. The last thing he needed was for her to go and spoil everything.

“And that’s the problem. It’s time to admit it.” Narrowing her eyes, she leaned in. “You have a crush…”

Snufkin felt his face flush, red hot hot hot. Chuckling uneasily, he pulled his hat down over his face again. “You’re silly.”

“On Sniff!”

“Sniff?” He sat up quickly. “Why would I- No!” Relieved, he let his shoulders draw up towards his face as he laughed. “Quite an imagination you have.” Feeling rather glad, he laughed once more, amused. “Sniff. Imagine that.”

His smile didn’t waver until he looked at Little My’s face, saw her triumphant grin. The sight made him uneasy all over again. “You know,” she crossed her arms, speaking slowly “the best way to catch a lie is in what people  _ don’t _ say.”

For another moment they stared at one another, neither one speaking.

“You won’t tell.” Snufkin lay back again, staring up at the sky.

“At the rate you’re going, I won’t have to.” With a huff, Little My plucked a handful of grass, sprinkling it over him. “You’re rather stupid, though.”

“Yes, I know.” He watched the impossibly slow clouds move. If they had another one of those pink clouds, they could float away, up to where they could chase sunsets… He could take Moomin’s hand and it wouldn’t be strange, maybe even lean his head against his shoulder… 

“If you’re going to be keeping a secret, the least you could do is make it an interesting one.” Little My set a small rock on his stomach.

“Fair enough. I’ll try harder next time.”

“Let’s just hope whatever he’s up to is more interesting. If you find out before me, you’ll tell me?”

“Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“I wouldn’t be a very good best friend if I did.”

“You’re a bad enough one as is, keeping secrets and all.” Stepping back, she examined her work before plucking another clover to place upon the rock. 

“Perhaps.” He hoped that wasn’t true. He would be worse for saying something, wouldn't he?

“Anyway, don’t think I’ll be letting you off so easy. I plan on collecting on this favor, do you hear me?”

“Oh, I assumed,” Snufkin nodded seriously. 

“Good. Once I think of something, I’ll tell you.” Bounding off up the creek, Little My hopped from rock to rock, heading towards the mountains. Quietly, Snufkin brushed the leaves and rocks off himself, covering his face with his hat once again. Where was he? Ah, yes. Bringing up a bowl of soup to sick Moomin’s window.


	4. Waiting and Thinking

Maybe when he opened his eyes, Moomin would have sat down beside him. The late-Spring air was inviting enough, pleasant and soft. Just like Moomin. He peaked beneath an eyelid. No, Moomin was still beneath the tree. Snufkin watched the way his tongue caught between his lips as he worked. What a phenomenal moomintroll. 

Snufkin closed his eyes again, ready to make up another scenario. The song he played was light and airy, and he kept his thoughts the same. Suppose he was to tumble off the bridge. Not so hard as to be hurt, mind you, but just enough that he needed help. Moomin would dive in after him of course, carrying him to shore, holding him as he coughed the air back into his lungs. And Moomin would be in near-tears, so frightened despite his bravery, and he would hold Snufkin in his arms, let him pet his damp fur, stroking one another's face until finally, finally he had the courage to lean in and-

“What are you working on?” 

The note nearly died, but he held onto it, continued playing as he again thought of words he couldn't say. He could play them, though, and so he let the melody sour.

“Nothing!” Moomin shut his book quickly, clutching it close to his chest. Snufkin wondered if he'd ever been jealous of a book before. 

“Can't be nothing.” Little My hopped down from the branch on which she had been hidden. It was such a nice moment; why did she have to go and ruin it?

“Well it is, so don't you mind it.” Snufkin had half a mind to intervene. Whatever secret Moomin was keeping, it was evidently meant to stay that way. 

“What is it, your journal? Are you keeping secrets?” Indignant, Little My fixed her hands into fists upon her hips. 

“Not that it's any of your business,” his brow furrowed, “but it's not, and I'm not.” It wasn't often that the moomintroll got really upset. Even now, he wasn't so much angry as annoyed. Snufkin hesitated. He could tell Little My to leave them be, but then who was to say she wouldn't spill his secret? He kept playing, keeping careful watch. 

“Let me read it then.”

“No!”

“Well why not?”

“Because it's…” Moomin paused. A lie was coming, Snufkin could tell. “Boring.”

Little My scoffed. “Boring secrets are still secrets.”

“No one said anything about secrets!”

“If it's not a secret, let me see it then!”

“Later, okay? Not until it's finished.”

“Oh boy, don't tell me you're going to start writing stories too? How many moomin stories could the world possibly need!” Interest lost, Little My bounded off. 

Snufkin watched her go, wondering how so much trouble could fit into such a little person. He chucked. “You should have known better than to start off with a mystery. Those are her favorites.”

“I'd think being a pest is her favorite,” Moomin grumbled, watching her disappear. He didn't mean it, of course, even if it was true.

“So, what are you working on?” Snufkin tried his best to sound nonchalant.

“Nothing now.” Moomin looked down again, examining his open book. “I'll let you know once it's ready for reading.”

“Okay.” He would tell him when he was ready. One of the nice things about such a good friendship was that it demanded nothing. He began another, lighter song. This time he didn't close his eyes, watching his best friend as he worked. Moomin was so very clever, in a way only he could be. He always had the best ideas. Snufkin watched him a few minutes more, until he was certain he was done writing.

Hopping off the rail, he pocketed his harmonica, more falling then sitting upon the ground beside his friend. Closing his eyes, he pulled his hat over his face, resting his arms behind his head. As he situated himself, his elbow brushed against Moomin's leg. 

It was an awfully hot day, and so he had pushed the sleeves of his jumper up, meaning his elbow was quite bare. Glad for the cover of his hat, he flushed at how soft his friend was, not daring to move. As badly as he wanted to curl up, use his dear friend as a pillow, he shouldn't push his luck so far. 

But still, the moomintroll was soft, so very, very soft, and Snufkin became flustered at the thought of them camping together. He could fall asleep on top of him, warm fur under his cheek. Snufkin was nothing but harsh angles and negative space, whereas Moomin lived in an abundance of kindness. He was the idea of loveliness incarnate. Snufkin moved his arm ever so slightly, shivering at the tickle. If Moomin leaned over right now, he could tilt his chin up with his soft, soft hands, brush his nose against his cheek, and then finally, finally- 

Snufkin wheezed.

“Are you alright?” He could hear the concern in Moomin's voice, but dared not lift his hat to meet his eyes. No doubt he was more flushed than five decks of cards. 

“I'm fine.”

“You're not cold, are you?”

“In this weather?” He laughed. “No. Perfectly fine.” Going quiet, he pretended to sleep. Moomin didn't press the issue, and before long, he was dreaming strange, summer dreams. 


	5. Loved

He had heard that love made a person a home. He hoped that wasn't true. 

He loved Moomin as a destination, something that didn't quite belong to him and he didn't quite belong to either. He'd hate to be tied down by love. Nothing grows like that. As appealing as the thought might occasionally be, he wasn't a potted plant or skuttering bug; even the loveliest of cages was still a cage. And that was why this whole issue wasn't a problem; he would never be a person to be loved like that, no matter how badly he might want it. That was just the way things were, and he was okay with that. Really. It was fine. 

He watched the water ripple, dancing in the slight breeze. Re-casting his line, Snufkin leaned against his knees, drawing idly in the dirt. Lazily, he drew a fish, and then a flower. He drew a nice self portrait, complete with polkadot eyes and stick hands. Moomin was easier to draw, all circles practically. He looked down at his dirt-masterpiece, looked about himself cautiously, and then used his thumb to press a heart into the space above them. He stared at it for another second before becoming embarrassed at being so silly, even if no one was around to see him.  

“Snufkin! Snufkin!” As if summoned by his awful art skills, Moomin was barreling down the hill towards him. Jumping as if caught at something, he brushed the image away with the back of his hand before frantically reeling his line back in, pretending that was what he had been doing the entire time.

“Hello, Moomin.” 

Snufkin knew plenty of songs. Some of them he had learned, a few he had written, others just appeared on the spot. But by far, his favorite song was the way Moomin’s name sounded when he said it aloud. It was a perfect name, he thought (he would probably feel just the same no matter what Moomin's name was, so it was fortunate that it was true).

Ever happy, the moomintroll ran in place, almost-dancing in his excitement. “Snufkin! I have something for you! A present!” 

That didn’t bode well. Snufkin wondered what the present might be, hoped it wasn’t anything too difficult. With any luck it would be something he could eat. Nervous, he flicked some stray hair off of his face, wondered if he ought to have tried combing it. He had very little hair compared to almost everyone else, and yet he couldn’t even manage the bit he had. Maybe he ought to ask Moomin how he kept his so nice and soft. The answer was probably something obvious like “sleeping indoors.”

“A present? What is it?”

“Here- Wait, you have to put down your fishing pole first.” 

He looked out at the line he had just re-cast. He hadn’t actually caught anything yet, and if the present wasn’t food, he  _ was  _ going to have to eat something tonight… But Moomin looked so excited, feet still pattering in his little dance that Snufkin couldn’t resist. He would do most anything for his friend.

“What is it?”  _ Please be a pancake,  _ he hoped.

“Remember when I was working on something and you asked what it was and I told you you could see it later? I finally finished and it’s ready and I hope you like it!” Standing still, Moomin thrust a paper towards him. Ah, writing. Alright. At least it wasn’t heavy. Maybe it was a story, or better yet, a plan. He rather liked Moomin’s plans.

His hands were still quite dirty from drawing on the ground, so he brushed them off on his pants. Unfortunately, his pants were also rather dirty. He did his best, feeling guilty at the thought of soiling Moomin’s nice sheet of paper. Things in his keep didn’t tend to stay clean for long; he much prefered using things to preserving them, figuring if he was something useful like a kettle, it’s what he would want. Turning the page around to face him, he began to read.

 

_ A Poem for Snufkin  _

 

_ Every year when Snufkin returns, _

_ He brings the sun; It brightly burns. _

_ Over the valley and over the brook, _

_ It is a joy just to look. _

_ The moon is jealous of all his sunshine, _

_ He glows the very brightest, dearest friend of mine. _

_ With every road and every mile, _

_ He makes me dance with his happy smile. _

_ He brings the music wherever he goes, _

_ And in my heart, my fondness grows. _

_ And yet each time there’s a falling leaf, _

_ He has to go, and it brings me grief. _

_ But wherever he goes, he will come back, _

_ With new songs and stories all packed in his pack. _

_ Because he is Snufkin, you have to know, _

_ He’s green like a plant, and he has to grow. _

_ So whether it’s now or not for a while, _

_ I can sleep easy with thoughts of his smile. _

_ The world he will travel wherever wind blows, _

_ With his hat and his pipe, and his very good nose. _

_ And once winter has ended and the river has thawed, _

_ I know he’ll be back with his good fishing rod. _

_ He has the most beautiful face the world’s ever seen. _

_ Framed by his scarf, and his hat, so green. _

_ His hands are just the right size to hold, _

_ And when you stand in his light, you could never get cold. _

_ So whether he is near or still rather far, _

_ He is always my Snufkin, my brightest shining star.  _

 

Snufkin had to decide very quickly whether or not he was going to plunge himself into the river. Obviously, it would be the smart thing to do. Underwater, people can’t hear you screaming. As he thought it over, he did his best impression of a rock. Rocks didn’t have emotions. You couldn’t tell what rocks were thinking. Maybe he could find the Hobgoblin, climb inside his hat for a while. He was certain that in his current state, it would undoubtedly turn him into a rock. Or maybe a kettle. He would like that.

“Very lovely, Moomin.”

It seemed like a nicely non-committal thing to say as he recuperated from the implosion of his guts, but as his friend’s ears dropped, he could feel every part of himself bristle. He had hurt Moomin’s feelings. He screamed something in his head he would never dare say aloud. 

“Do you… Do you like it?”

Did he like it? Did he like being told his best friend thought of him as the sun itself? Did he like hearing that Moomin, his Moomin, with the soft everything and lovely smile thought he was beautiful? Did he like having written, tangible proof that somehow, Moomin felt just the same way that he did? 

He wanted to dance, to shout, to go hide in his tent forever and never come out again. He ought to say something, something lovely and beautiful and poetic in turn-

“Oh yes, very much.”  _ Say something romantic!  _ “I've never had anyone write me a love poem before.”

Even beneath the fur, Snufkin could see Moomin go red. There it was. He’d ruined it. Best if he just got up and started packing now, seeing as he could never come back here again. Goodbye, Moominvalley. Goodbye.

“No! No, I didn't mean- It's not a _ love  _ poem!”

Of course it wasn’t. Stupid Snufkin. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Just because he endured an average of three pleasant emotions every year didn’t mean that everyone else was so strange. No doubt moomins gave each other poems all the time. He couldn’t remember hearing about such a thing, but it seemed to be in their very nature to be adoring. “Oh.” He paused, planning what he ought to say to best control the damage. “So you don't love me?”

Wrong thing to say. Moomin became even more upset. “Of course I do! You're my best friend! And I love you in a best friend way, but not like- You're very dear to me-”

Snufkin looked over the poem again. He would be the first to admit he wasn’t good with feelings, but still. It hardly seemed like the sort of things you’d say to a person you only sort of like.

“So it  _ is  _ a love poem?” 

“Yes! Er, No! I mean-” flustered, Moomin looked about, his ears twitching nervously. “It's best friend love. You know. Different.”

Snufkin nodded. Of course. Best friend love. He had never heard of it. “No. I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know?”

“Just that. I don't quite understand.” Obviously this was all a cultural difference. Classic Snufkin, always a stranger wherever he went.  Maybe that’s what he was feeling, just confusing it for love-love. That would make sense.

“How can you- Never mind, this was all a mistake. Forget it.” Still flushed an attractive shade of pink, Moomin reached for the poem. Reflexively, Snufkin pulled it away. Not a chance. Torture or not, he was keeping this forever. It was his now.

“I do not want to forget it. I want you to explain the difference for me.”

“The difference?”

“The difference between best friend love and love poem love. Evidently I don’t understand it, so I need you to explain.” 

“But you know!” Moomin threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “It feels different! It feels like- It makes you all nervous. And you want to hold hands and kiss them, your person. And you think about them all the time, and even when they're gone you think about him and how much nicer it would be if you could be with them and give them flowers because you miss them!” 

Snufkin nodded. Okay. That sounded exactly how he felt. “And which one is that?” 

“Girlfriend love!”

His gut twisted in a resigned sigh. Oh. “And best friend love is…?”

“Different!”

“Different how?”

“Different completely!”

“I…” Snufkin shook his head slowly. “Explain it again.” If he could make sense of how Moomin felt, it might be easier. After all, it was better to be small in his heart than not in it at all.

“Okay,” Moomin sighed, staring at his open palms. Snufkin wanted to reach out and touch one. “So. When I'm with Snorkmaiden.”

“Yes.” 

“It feels like when we are all going out on an adventure together. Like, when we all go down to the beach after a storm or when we stay up late in Moominhouse drinking coffees together. It's a nice feeling where she listens to me and I listen to her and we help each other out when we need help.”

“And that's girlfriend love?” 

“Yes.”

Something wasn’t adding up. That didn’t make him jealous at all.

“Moomin,” Snufkin hesitated, making sure he was certain before he spoke.

“Yeah?”

“What you just described is friendship.” 

“No no no!” Moomin waved his hands. “Friendship love is different!” Oh no. Snufkin had been doing this whole thing wrong, hadn’t he? “That’s the way we always look out for Little My even though she’s usually the person who caused all the trouble in the first place! It's knowing you can count on them and they count on you and knowing exactly what they like and don't like and everything in between.”

That wasn’t it either. “And THAT'S how you feel about me?”

“Yes, but also no.”

“Why no?” 

Moomin sighed, no doubt tired of Snufkin’s chronic ignorance. All he had wanted was to give him a nice gift and he had made such a mess of it. “Okay. So. We're friends, right?”

“Best friends, last I checked.” There was an hurt to his words despite himself. Best friends. Better than regular friends. No one else was friends with Moomin like he was. He was special.

“Exactly! And see, best-friendship is different from friendship which is different-”

“From girlfriend love. Yes, you said. So, if that's not best-friendship love, what is? How do you know the difference between that and friendship love?” He hoped his bombardment of questions wasn’t too suspicious, but he had to know.

“That's easy! Because when you see your best friend, your heart goes up into your throat, and you get so excited you can't talk, but you do anyway. And every time you look at them, you realize all over again that they are the most beautiful person in the world and you want to be their best friend forever. And when you're apart, it hurts, right here,” Moomin pointed to his chest, “and nothing can fix it until you see them again. And then you do best friend things like cook dinner together and go on secret adventures just the two of you, and you think about them a lot and when you're not with them you miss them, and sometimes you hold hands just to stay close, and when you do hold their hand it doesn’t matter what you think of yourself because they don’t mind the way you are, and… and… and…” 

Moomin was quiet. Snufkin stared Moomin and Moomin stared at Snufkin. He ought to say something, anything, but his tongue was too swelled up with every single thing he ought not to say for him to find his way around it. 

Moomin broke the silence first, his ears falling.

“Best friends… don't do all that, do they?”

Snufkin had no idea why Moomin thought he would be able to answer that question. True, in his travels he had met lots of best friends, but none of them were ever as special as Moomin. “Not… always.”

“I wrote you a love poem, didn't I?”

If he didn’t say something right he would positively burst into flames. “A very good one, at that.” Unable to meet his eyes, Snufkin looked down at the paper again. A love poem. It  _ was  _ a love poem.

_ My Snufkin. _

What beautiful words. 

“Ooh, how embarrassing!” Falling to the ground, Moomin covered his eyes with his paws. 

“What's embarrassing about it?” Bristled again, Snufkin looked over at his friend, his heart in his throat, thump-thump-thumping as if to squeeze out everything he ought not to say.

“I'm so sorry, Snufkin. Just throw it in the river, please? Maybe some fish can eat it.” 

A fish, eat his poem? No way. This was treasure and he intended to treat it as such. 

As terrified as he felt, Snufkin couldn’t help but laugh. A love poem. Moomin had written him a love poem. Him. Snufkin. A love poem. From Moomin. A love poem.  _ A poem for Snufkin.  _

“Really, Moomin. Why would I want to do that? It’s so lovely. How long did this take?”

“Stop teasing, Snufkin! It isn't kind!” It almost sounded as if he might cry. Snufkin wanted to hug him, but his skin was burning, burning, burning with joy. Moomin loved him. 

“Hey, Moomin. I mean it. This is excellent. You must have put so much work into it. I'm honored.” His friend still refused to look at him, which made Snufkin nervous. Was he mad at him? Was this somehow Snufkin’s fault? He couldn’t remember making any wishes for Moomin to love him back. Those sorts of wishes were incredibly dangerous and so he tended to avoid them. Taking his wrists, he pulled Moomin’s paws away from his face, heart breaking at the fear in his eyes. “Oh, Moomin.” He smiled, bit back the sadness sitting on his tongue. “You seem to have things mostly figured, if a bit backwards.”

“I'm so sorry, Snufkin!” What was he sorry for? For giving him the singular most happy moment of his life? Was Moomin truly sad or just embarrassed?  _ Dearest friend of mine. Dearest. My Snufkin. Dearest Snufkin. _

“You shouldn’t be apologizing.”

“I never meant for-” Moomin groaned. “Can we pretend this never happened?” 

_ Sad or embarrassed? Sad or embarrassed? Which one was it? _

“If that’s what you want.”

“I think it’s best.” 

“Alright then.” He had two choices now. Only two. He could throw himself into the river or… Or he could gamble with everything he had. Worst comes to worst, he could always call the river plan B. “But…” Pausing, Snufkin summoned up all the courage he could fit into his body. “You should know that there's a fourth type of love you forgot about.”

“Fourth type?” Moomin's ears twitched upwards.

Serious as he had ever been, Snufkin nodded. This was it. No going back now. “Sure. Let's see; you got most of them--friendship, best-friendship, and girlfriend love.” Snufkin tapped his fingers against Moomin's wrist as he counted them out. Even after all this time, he was still shocked by how soft he was.

“What's the fourth?” 

Was he breathing? Snufkin couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Did he even remember how to breathe? Where were his lungs? “Boyfriend love.”

“Oh?” Moomin’s voice wavered a little, but not as it did before he cried. Something different, like when they had a surprising twist in their day’s plans.

“Oh, yes.” Snufkin nodded, all his hope pinned to this.

“What… What type is that?” Moomin tried and failed to sound casual. Snufkin assumed he sounded much the same.

“Well…” He took a moment, let himself think the type of thoughts that he usually reserved for squashing down before bed. “That's the type where sometimes you sit out and watch the sky at night after a day of catching weird bugs and fighting off mostly real monsters. It also happens when you wait all winter just to see someone, and when you finally do, you get so excited that you feel like a hattifattener in a storm. Or when you're next to them, and all you want to do is keeping listening to their stories and poems. Or their silence. Whichever is needed until you're ready to kiss them and then sit next to them some more.”

“Wow,” Moomin sort-of smiled. “That sounds… almost like us.”

“Almost?” Almost wasn’t “yes.” Almost wasn’t “I love you too.” Almost was… Almost. 

“Yeah, except for…” Moomin trailed off. “You know, I don't actually know how people like you are supposed to kiss with such a tiny little nose.” 

Snufkin was used to feeling small. He lived in a world with wide open skies, forests older than time, and magic they didn’t even know about yet. In the frame of things, he was very, very small indeed, barely a speck upon a dot amongst a thousand others. And yet, never had he been more aware of just how small he was until that moment, when all of the joy of every world that had ever been flooded into his body, filling him up and spilling over into pure, giddy laughter.

A moment later and Moomin was laughing too, holding onto Snufkin’s arms and laughing, soaking up all the joy that Snufkin couldn’t. He loved him. Snufkin loved Moomin and Moomin loved Snufkin, and he had the poem to prove it.

Invincible in his joy, he cupped his friend’s cheeks, felt the soft, soft, softness of his fur against his fingers, his palms, hardly bothering to think it over before pressing their foreheads together, burrowing his nose into the soft fur. 

“How's that?” 

Moomin had been kissed plenty of times. Not Snufkin. Or at least, not properly. He very rarely liked things to be proper, but kissing Moomin was one thing he thought ought to be done right. And so he did, nuzzling his best friend the way he had seen the others do it, laughing as he did so. 

“It tickles,” Moomin laughed, and the sound was beautiful. What a perfect first kiss. What a perfect Moomintroll. What a perfect everything.

Snufkin’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and yet he couldn’t stop, still giddy. Taking the moment for everything he could, he pressed his forehead to his friend’s snout, making the kiss as big and grand as he could. Holding onto Moomin, he felt his hat begin to fall. He didn’t care though. Nothing else mattered other than this and now and the way the moomins got it all figured out so that they could kiss and laugh at the same time, and-

His first kiss came to sudden end as they ceased to be upright. Both looked at the other in surprise, but seeing as neither was hurt, they began to laugh again.

Not wanting to deal with distractions as silly as hats, Snufkin took the opportunity to lay his hat to the side, trying to tousle his hair back into a less-embarrassing shape. Moomin was lucky, not having to worry about such things.

“I meant everything I said.” Moomin spoke, shy again. “You really are beautiful.”

If Snufkin jumped into the river now, he would boil the fish alive with how hot his face had become. Maybe removing his hat was a mistake; he no longer had anything to hide beneath. His head told to him to say something kind back, something clever and lovely, but Moomin spoke first, rescuing him from the obligation.

“Can I- Is it okay if you kiss me again?”

He would kiss him as many times as he had kisses left in his body. There wasn’t much to him, but kisses didn’t take up much room, and so he was certain he could manage plenty. He looked at Moomin’s smile, his wonderful smile, his perfectly crooked smile. 

“Okay. But this time, we'll try it my way.”

Holding his friend’s face again, he leaned in, feeling very lucky that he got to have two sorts of first kisses. However, not having any prior experience with kissing left Snufkin at a bit of a loss. He was going to mess this up, he just knew it. Shoving away all the nervous thoughts in his mind, he decided to just close his eyes and try his best. 

Snufkin was the type of person who spent most of his time on the ground. He was well-acquainted with rocks and roots and all sorts of things that poked and skittered. What he wasn’t ready for was the absolute enveloping softness of kissing a moomintroll on the lips. It was… He was… His thoughts dancing faster than leaves in a storm, he tried not to squeak as Moomin touched his face gently, as if afraid of scaring Snufkin away. Nothing in the world could scare him now. All the maps of all the countries of all the world were his playground because he had what no one else did. He got to kiss his best friend.

The downside to this sort of kissing, Snufkin quickly realized, was that you had to breathe eventually. Moving back only long enough to gasp for air, he was grateful that Moomin didn’t let go of him. Normally, he didn’t like being held, but this was alright. They could stay like this for a while, at least. The thought didn’t scare him. There would always be time where they had to sleep or eat or go climbing, which meant plenty of breaks. More importantly, it meant more opportunities to begin kisses. And so he began one again, just for the joy of doing so. It felt like the last minutes of a journey, right when you step on the threshold and “there” becomes “here” and it was the most blissful satisfaction he had ever know. Everything in the world was warm and soft, and Snufkin just knew this was the moment he would come back to later that night when he tried to decide whether or not it was real.

Feeling his lungs go heavy with the need for more air, he let himself tumble to the grass once again, unable to stop himself from petting his friend’s face. Exhausted at having felt so many things all at once, he closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to Moomin’s so that their noses touched. The silence was comfortable, yet after a while he felt he really ought to say something romantic. It was his turn, afterall.

“You're good at that.”  _ Not romantic. Why was he so bad at this? _

“Thanks. I have no idea what I'm doing.” 

Relieved that he wasn’t alone, Snufkin laughed, reaching out to take Moomin’s paw. “So this is- This is a moomin kiss, right?”

“Exactly right,” Moomin laughed at his silliness.

“You don't mind my ‘too-small nose,’ do you?” What was it that the poem said?  _ His hat, and his pipe, and his very small nose _ ?

“I think it's perfect. Was I- Did I do it-” There was a matching nervousness in Moomin’s tone. Truth be told, Snufkin had no way of knowing whether or not they kissed right. All he knew was that he liked it very much.

“Perfect.” Snufkin smiled, pushing his nose into the soft fur of Moomin's snout. “Although, if you want, we could always practice some more.” 

“That's very smart of you, Snufkin! You always have the best ideas.” 

“Yes, well.” Reluctant at leaving another perfect kiss, he pushed himself up onto his elbows with a smile, “I suppose I just have the best best friend.” 

“Oh?” 

“Or, you know. Boyfriend.” Desperate to seem calm and collected, Snufkin shrugged as if it made no difference in the world to him before kissing Moomin on the lips once more.

“Boyfriend?” 

“As far as I can tell, with you, there isn't much of a difference. So call me what you want.”

Moomin thought it over quietly, giving it due consideration. “I think I mostly just like calling you Snufkin.”

Snufkin could swear his heart itself smiled. He laughed. “That's fine. I can be just Snufkin.”  _ Moomin’s Snufkin. My Snufkin. Dearest Snufkin. Lord, what great names they both had. _

“Oh, good!” Moomin put his paws back to Snufkin’s face, squishing his cheeks as he kissed him on the mouth. Sighing, Snufkin brushed his fingers through the fur on Moomin’s cheeks, and once again, all was right in the world. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one can be found at https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411950/chapters/43608680


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